It was very dark. She dared not move for fear she might knock into something and make a noise. She told herself that she must stand very still. She could hear them out in the _atelier_ now in a muffled sort of a way; they were walking around and around, and it sounded as though they were moving things about. And then she seemed to go cold with fear again, and a sense of dismay surged upon her. The "_Fille du Régiment_" was uncovered! She had had no time, even if she had thought of it, to replace the covering. What would Jean do? Would he think it was an accident, that the wrapping had been carelessly done, would he blame Hector, or--would he think some one had been there, that some one was perhaps there now, and--and suppose he should come to the dressing room door, and open it, and--and find her there!
She was frightened now, terribly afraid--more afraid than she had ever been in her life before. If Jean should find her there, what would he think of her? The blood rushed in a fierce crimson tide to her face. She would rather die than that! But it was not only herself, it was not only that--there was Jean. She had no right to obtrude herself into his life and to disturb it. But surely--surely the _bon Dieu_ would keep him away from the door! She had been very foolish and very wicked ever to have come, ever to have risked so much, only the temptation had been so great, and her heart had pleaded so hard; but--but if only no harm should come of it all this time, she would promise that--that she would not come there any more like this at night.
Perhaps he had not seen it! Perhaps he had not noticed it! And yet it was not just moonlight out there any more, and the _atelier_ was lighted now, for she could see the tiny rays as they filtered in under the door where it did not fit well over the threshold. She listened intently, almost expecting to hear Jean cry out about the covering of the "_Fille du Régiment_," but they still seemed to be moving around a great deal, and the voices were indistinguishable, and she could understand nothing of what they were saying, except only a name that she caught because it was repeated several times--the name of Paul Valmain. It seemed somehow to be familiar. Yes; she remembered. He was one of Jean's friends of the _grand monde_, the man that Father Anton had pointed out beside Monsieur and Mademoiselle Bliss in that group with Jean on the night of the great reception.